One Day to the Next
by Porcelain Toast
Summary: [slash, HarryDraco] When a Death Eater walks into the Ministry of Magic, intent on turning to the Light, Harry realizes that life never really stops changing.
1. Welcome to the Real World

**Title – **One Day to the Next  
**Author Name and E-mail – **Porcelain Toast  
**Pairing(s) – **Harry/Draco, Hermione/Ron  
**Disclaimer** – I do not claim any rights to the characters or situations created by JK Rowling.  
**Rating –** PG-13  
**Summary** – Sometimes, life can take you in unexpected directions - Harry Potter knows this as a fact. Nothing in his life has happened the way he thought it would, something he sees now, more than ever. But when a Death Eater walks into the Ministry of Magic, intent on turning to the Light, Harry realizes that life never really stops changing.  
**Category(s)** – romance, humour  
**Spoilers – **Any of the books, PS/SS, COS, POA, GOF, OotP

**Chapter 1  
Welcome to the Real World**

I've always found it amazing how quickly things can change. You can wake up one morning, expecting everything to be as it was when you went to sleep, only to find that nothing will ever be the same again.

Life's funny like that, isn't it?

Maybe, though, that's how it's supposed to be. It keeps us from getting bored, from staying too long in situations that could kill us. Not our bodies, but our spirits. But at the same time, change can hurt more than anything else in the world.

More than fear.

More than hatred.

More than love.

My whole life had been about change, constantly shifting from one day to the next. I used to fall asleep wondering what kind of world I would wake up to in the morning, even from the earliest days of my youth.

Now, as I listen to the soles of my shoes tapping against the cold marble floor of my workplace, I wonder – what is it that I will witness today?

Being an auror certainly has a downside in this day and age. While recently, Voldemort's attempts at gaining back power seemed to have slowed somewhat, that didn't mean there was any lack in Death Eater activity.

Yet, the answer to my question is the same as always since I started my job – nothing. I will witness nothing today, because today, like everyday, I am stuck behind a desk, sifting through paperwork. Me, the Boy Who Lived, a desk jockey, as Muggles would phrase it. Ironic, isn't it?

But I suppose keeping the savior of the wizarding world out of harm's way is of the utmost importance after all. No point in placing me in needless danger until the moment of truth. That had always been Dumbledore's philosophy, regardless of how he tried to give the opposite impression after that not-so-long-ago incident in the Department of Mysteries.

"Incident."

An interesting word for it, isn't it? But that's what we all called it, afraid to say it like it really is. Especially around me. Who knows what they call it when I'm not around? Perhaps I'm paranoid, but honestly… do we ever really know what goes on behind our backs?

I nod to a coworker – I don't know his name, though I see him everyday. I'm sure he knows mine… how could he not?

But I nod anyways, give a smile, and continue on my way. Everyday, I see him, and everyday, the same nod and smile.

For a boy whose life used to change so drastically, so quickly, so that his life was nothing more than shifting sand…

My life is now unbelievably, unaccountably, and unbearably static.

---

**To:** Harry Potter  
**From:** Hermione Granger  
**Re:** Lunch

Harry! I can't believe I forgot to tell you this morning, but I'm going to be in a lengthy professor's meeting at Hogwarts today during the lunch hour. Dumbledore feels it has become necessary to step up school security some.

I'll see you at home,  
Hermione

---

I stare at the piece of parchment in my hand blankly, feeling oddly at a loss. What am I supposed to do for lunch now? Every Friday since we left Hogwarts two years ago, he and Hermione had had lunch together. Ron usually comes when he can, but often between Order work and practices with the Chudley Canons, those times are few.

I, however, have no such problem. Neither the Ministry or the Order is willing to let me wander too far from safety, or get buried under work – I've beaten Voldemort more times than anyone else can claim, but I'm much too fragile for real work. Go figure.

I allow the paper to float gently, gently down to rest on the top of the paper tray labeled "complete". Then, I turn my eyes to the pile of paperwork easily three times as high, that rests rudely in the middle of my desk. Attempting to withhold a sigh, I collapse into my chair. A chuckle to my right lets me know that my pain is being mocked, and I pause in my misery to glare at the elderly auror sitting beside me.

"Whoa, now, there. No need to be nasty," he says, voice scratchy and hoarse.

Paul Bellwick has been working here longer than Mad-Eye Moody, and tells me repeatedly that I am not the only so-called auror in training to be forced to remain on desk detail for so long before being permitted to do field work. And I'd be ready to believe that, too, if only the rest of my class hadn't been doing fieldwork for over three months now.

The only other auror-in-training that is stuck in my position is one Ms. Kaila Bradshaw, Muggleborn and proud of it. However, despite that pride, she remains only minimally magically talented, and is nearly a squib. I remain, to this day, uncertain as to how it is that she managed to gain a spot on the training list of aurors. And it does very little for my ego to know that I am being held back with the likes of her, as horrible as it may sound to say. Hermione was quite angered when I brought up the subject with her a few weeks ago, and I haven't made that mistake again.

But here I am, ready for another tedious day of work, filling out and approving other, active, auror's field reports alongside Paul and Kaila, who share the small office with me.

We don't even get exciting paperwork, unlike the wizards across the hall.

I work dutifully throughout the morning, gaining two papercuts and a new callus on my writing hand. Not bad, for four hours' work. I think that callus just allowed me to set a new record. When Paul heads off to lunch, just as Kaila wanders into work four hours late, I remain at my desk, simply sitting, and wondering what to do with myself.

Kaila sets her bag down loudly on the floor, and clears her throat. I look at her then, offering a small smile in greeting. She grins back, and gives me a thumbs up.

I believe she attended Beaubaxtons, if her accent is anything to go by, yet I consistently have a hard time associating her mannerisms with other Beaubaxtons graduates, such as Fleur Delacour.

"Did you see zeh big upset downstairs?" she asks, beginning to unpack her lunch. I shrug, and my stomach growls. That's right, I didn't pack a lunch. Thanks, Hermione. You couldn't have chosen another day for your current flightiness to start to affect me?

"No, when I came up everything was calm," I respond. She nods, as if she figured as much, which begs the question: why would she have asked me in the first place?

"Vell, there is definitely somezing up!" she exclaims. She appears childishly delighted at the idea.

However, me being who I am, take this message in a slightly more pessimistic light, and respond anxiously, "Is it Voldemort?"

She gives me a chiding glare, but I see no need to apologize for my use of Voldemort's real name. It's not even his real name, for that matter… if I were to get technical. Which I may, one day. Sometimes, to amuse myself, I wonder what would happen if I pointed out that his name is Tom. Would everyone named Tom be forced to go by "You Know Who"?

Curious things, social customs.

Just as it is occurring to me that I am becoming cynical in my old age of twenty, Kaila continues, "I do not believe so, mais! Who knows zese days, yes?"

Yes. Okay.

A niggling worry worms its way into the back of my mind for the remainder of the day, so much so that I have four new papercuts to add to my collection from the morning. It isn't until I'm walking in the doorway of the apartment Hermione and I share that I realize I never owled her back.

Oops.

Making a careful sweep around the apartment, I realize that Hermione isn't currently in the building, and allow myself a moment of relief. That moment, however, dissolves completely as the door slams open a couple seconds later.

"Harry Potter!" she yells.

I bite my lip, and wonder if I'm too old to hide under my bed.

"I know you're in here! You hate your job and work officially ended half an hour ago."

Realizing hiding is useless, I poke my head out of my bedroom doorway. The expression on her face is thunderous, and I wonder if it has occurred to her that she may be overreacting.

"Look, I'm really sorry, I meant to owl you back, I just forgot!"

Apologize. Good.

"You forgot! I was worried about you all day, and I felt so guilty! You could have owled me to let me know you were okay."

"Sorry."

"I really felt terrible! And then I realized that you, of course, didn't have a lunch, and then I felt even worse."

"Sorry…. Look, don't worry, I got lunch from a place in Muggle London, just a little ways away from the Ministry."

"Oh good, I'm glad," she says, visibly relaxing, voice sugary sweet. Then, all that disappears, and she adds, "I'M GLAD I FELT GUILTY FOR NO REASON! WHICH, BY THE WAY, I WOULDN'T HAVE DONE IF YOU HAD JUST OWLED ME BACK!"

Suddenly, I miss my desk. And Paul. And Kaila.

At least there, there were witnesses.

I bet neither the Ministry nor the Order has thought to protect me from my roommate.

---

Hermione settled down some once we had eaten dinner. Thank Merlin. Now, as we sit side by side on our couch, in companionable silence, I no longer feel the need to fear for my life. She has a textbook open in her lap, and her brow is furrowed in her mask of concentration. She's been working hard, Hermione – but then, she always has, hasn't she?

"You know, I always knew you wouldn't be able to leave school," I comment randomly.

She pauses, and looks up at me curiously. "Oh? Well, I'm not in Hogwarts anymore, and I only have a year or two more of teacher's training…"

"But you'll still be in school teaching, won't you? And of course you're in Hogwarts, you spend your days there when you don't have class. They even let you – an intern – go to professor's meetings."

Hermione flushes slightly, and glances down at her textbook, presumably from the implied praise of my words. I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. Even after all these years, she's still the same old, sweet, Hermione, once you get past any first impressions of her.

"Have you seen Ron lately?" I ask, knowing I'm interrupting her, but unable to help myself. It's been over two weeks since I've even heard from my best friend.

Hermione shuts her book – loudly – in exasperation, then responds shortly, "No, Harry, I haven't."

"Oh, okay… Sorry, Hermione, it's just… Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

I seem to be apologizing a lot lately. Apologizing to Hermione. Apologizing to Paul and Kaila when I'm being particularly surly. Apologizing to Mrs. Weasley for not making it to 'family' dinners on Sunday, merely because I don't want to be surrounded by a roomful of successful, happy people.

We settle back into silence, and this time, I don't break it.

She does.

"My parents want to come visit," she says.

I look at her incredulously.

"You just snapped at me for interrupting you," I accuse. "No talking until you're done reading."

"But -,"

"No."

"Harry!" she exclaims, and I know that were she standing, she would stamp her foot.

I wink at her, and she smiles after a long moment of stubborn scowling.

"So, your parents?"

"Yes, they want to come visit. But…"

"But?"

Hermione bites her lip, and I begin to understand.

"You STILL haven't told them you're living with me?"

"Well, just think how that sentence sounds!"

I know how that sentence sounds, I do. And I know what she means, but really. Hermione and I are not, nor will we ever, be involved. So why should her parents have issues with her sharing an apartment with me? And quite honestly, I'm getting very tired of being shunted out of my own apartment every few months and into Ginny's, whilst she takes over my room.

And not only because she always – and I mean always – leaves a prank behind for me to find (such a sweet girl, that Ginny). It's just the principle of the entire situation. And I find it difficult to believe that anyone can be happy lying to their parents for years on end.

"Hermione, no."

"No?"

"We are NOT doing this again! I refuse to stay at Ginny's."

"But, Harry, it would just be for a week this time, and…."

"This had better be a good 'and'…" I interject, rolling my eyes.

"And I don't feel like dealing with this right now!" she all but sobs.

At this point in the conversation, I am truly at a loss for words. Even sarcasm, which has been a tried and true defense mechanism for the better part of five years, fails me.

I realize, without a doubt, that I can argue until my throat is raw, but I will be spending a week at Ginny's. The word "fine" escapes my mouth heavily, and then Hermione's arms are around my neck, and she's squealing in a girlish manner entirely unlike her.

While her happiness does make me feel a little less put out about the whole thing, some resentment still manages to surface. I lie awake later that night, wondering where the next prank a la Ginny will be placed. Under the bed? In the pillowcase? It's anyone's guess, really. The moon casts a blue glow through my small window, and I seriously begin to question my life at this point in time.

Nothing has felt… right… since Hogwarts. Now, I'm just sort of drifting from day to day, living the same routine over and over again. I suppose I should be happy that I get to lead such a boring, normal life. There was a time when I seriously doubted I would even survive to leave Hogwarts. But now that I have, I want more than anything to go back – back where there were possibilities, hope, excitement.

I roll over onto my stomach, turning my face into my pillow and squeezing my eyes shut as I realize: At Hogwarts, I was never treated as much like a child as I am now.

And maybe that's the difference.


	2. Everything Eventually

**Chapter 2  
Everything Eventually**

Sometimes, life just isn't fair.

I come to this conclusion as I wait for the witch at the cafeteria to give me my morning coffee. Yes, I know it's typical to a workday routine. And yes, I realize that I, as a rule, resent this sort of normalcy. But since I'm stuck with it anyways, I figure I might as well embrace the good aspects. Like coffee.

Finally, the warm cup is placed in my hand, and I take a grateful sip. I pay the witch, and give her a generous tip, because it's expected of me, the Golden Boy.

It is as I am getting into the elevator that I finally notice that I didn't pass the man that I have nodded at, every morning, for years. I'm not sure whether to feel elated that one tedious aspect of my tedious day at my tedious job has been removed, or to be worried.

I choose the latter, because as the elevator reaches my floor, yesterday's niggling worry tickles my brain once more. My suspicions are raised even more when I reach the office.

Both Kaila – Kaila, who has not been on time for work since she started this job – and Paul look up at me as I enter the room. I pause, unsure, and ask, "What?"

"We 'ave 'ad a walk in!" Kaila exclaims. She's practically bouncing. "Do you remember? I told you yesterday that there was somezing going on! And there was!"

"Good, more paperwork," I mutter. I begin moving towards my desk once more.

"It was a Death Eater, you know," Paul states.

That makes me freeze.

"There is a DEATH EATER in the building!" I find myself demanding.

Paul and Kaila nod comically, though there is nothing funny about the situation. A Death Eater walk in hasn't happened since… well, ever. When Snape turned spy, he went to Dumbledore. Certainly not the Ministry of Magic – not at first.

And then there's the whole other issue of whether or not this is for real … because, what's a more perfect set up?

A sharp rapping at the door, and all three of us snap our heads around to see Mad-Eye Moody standing there. I know we all have guilty expressions on our faces for engaging in the office gossip Moody so desperately despises. Both his real eye and his magical eye focus on me.

"Potter, come with me."

What?

"What?"

"I assume you've already heard about the walk in we had yesterday…"

"Yes, I was just informed," I tell him, frowning. At this point, I am beyond confused. What is it that I'm needed for?

"We need someone to process his statement, watch him for a little while…"

My heart sinks somewhat at the thought of more paperwork. Until that moment, I hadn't realized that I had been expecting something more. And then I feel foolish – why should today be any different from the others?

"Oh," I say, and know the disappointment is clear in my voice. "Of course."

Why wouldn't the Boy-Who-Lived be put on babysitting detail? It makes perfect sense, really. When you think about it, that is.

Moody looks at me, and I suddenly get the distinct feeling that he knows what I'm thinking. I try to look ashamed, but if the only way that anyone's going to hear what I'm thinking is by reading my mind, then so be it.

I walk down the hallway with him, hearing my shoes squeak all too loudly on the smooth floor, and I wait for him to begin to explain – to give me some sort of information on this person… this Death Eater. Moody stops outside a door, and stands watching me for a minute. Then, he hands me the proper forms that have magically appeared in his hand – I'm unsure as to whether I'm just unobservant, or whether they really DID magically appear – and finally opens his mouth once more.

"Now, have him fill those out, then call for someone to come collect them. Stay with him until another agent comes to relieve you… then I'll see you in my office to review his statement. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," I respond, nodding.

I reach my hand out to turn the doorknob, and Moody begins again, "You should know, Potter…"

I forget to let go of the doorknob, and find myself staring at the person in the room, unable to think what to say to this. I almost don't hear Moody's next words.

"…That the walk in was Draco Malfoy."

---

The room is unbearably silent, but for the persistent scribbling of a quill. Malfoy ran out of room on the Ministry's standard statement form about half an hour ago – not that walk ins are standard – and I had had to go fetch him more parchment.

I never thought I would see the day when Malfoy was sitting in front of me, in a pristine white Ministry interrogation room, defecting. His robes, Death Eater's robes, are torn and muddy. His pale face isn't as pointy as I always remembered it being – his jaw is much too swollen to be anything remotely angular. It seems cruel to me, somehow, to watch him sitting there, obviously in pain, and doing nothing about it.

His lip is split, and I assume that he was thrown into something quite hard - at some point on the path leading him to this moment.

I wonder why no one has offered him medical attention. He stops to rub his chin – fingers coming away with a small spot of blood from his lip – and I know that were I trained in healing charms, I would heal him myself.

The only thing I can do is conjure a glass of ice for him, and place it on the table. Not that he notices – so absorbed as he is in what he is writing. Pages upon pages have already been filled, and he doesn't show any sign of slowing down. Then again, as a Malfoy, he probably has a lot to tell us about Voldemort's plans, the inner workings of his following.

He hasn't spoken to me yet – barely even looked at me.

But I assume that our past connection is what prompted Moody to let me supervise Malfoy. Apparently, I don't need protection from my old school rival.

For a second, I am lost in memories of Hogwarts, and the many times Malfoy and I taunted each other, stared each other down across the Great Hall, got into a fistfight over a stupid comment.

It's funny… neither of us has ended up where we thought we'd be.

---

I'm staring at Malfoy now, and he's staring at the table in front of him, not saying anything as I wait for another auror to show up. It's been twelve minutes and fifty seconds since the scratching of the quill ceased. And, aside from counting off the seconds, I've been debating with myself as to whether or not I want Malfoy to end the silence. Do I really want to hear anything he has to say? Probably not. And yet…

He's just sitting there, not saying a word, as I scrutinize him, trying to figure out if this is just an elaborate ruse. The document he has written up will be checked, of course – verified, many times over. But his eyes, which have always looked like ice-cold slates of gray to me, are now merely dull. There is no harshness in them, just…blankness.

I almost want to believe him.

"What happened?"

The words echo in the room, and it takes the surprised look on Malfoy's face for me to realize that I have spoken. Then, his eyes narrow, and he states, "It's in the report. Not like you'd trust my answer, anyways."

"I might."

This is met with silence. After a moment, Malfoy shakes his head, and returns to staring at the table in front of him. Not even I know why I said that. Malfoy has never given me any reason to trust him before – why should I start?

The door opens, and an auror I don't recognize gestures me forward. I cast a last look at Malfoy, wondering if our paths will ever meet again, and leave the room. Moody stands outside, waiting to walk me back to his office. The other auror stations himself outside the door, looking more like a Muggle club bouncer than Ministry official.

"Did you get a look at his statement?" Moody asks gruffly, as we walk down a corridor.

Surprised, I ask, "What? No… Should I have?"

"Of course not."

Okay, then.

"If this goes through…if everything is verified…he'll need a handler. Now, as you know, many aurors are quite busy with the threat the Dark Lord has been posing as of late…"

Actually, no, I do not know. This is what you have all been keeping as far away from me as possible, remember?

Dark Lord? Who? ALERT THE PRESS!

"… but we still need a strong auror to do the job. Now, I know that you know how to deal with Mr. Malfoy – you're familiar with him…"

He's going to ask me to permanently baby-sit Malfoy. That's where he's going with this, isn't it?

"And we were wondering if you would be able to suggest anyone not currently in the field who would be up for the job."

I have a hard time deciding if I'm relieved, offended, angry, or just plain hurt. I nod dumbly, and watch Moody – and quite a few hopes I hadn't realized I was hanging on to - walk away.

It is another minute before I realize I should be following him.

---

I walk in the door, and Hermione is already home, at the kitchen table, surrounded by books. A suitcase lies on the floor next to her.

"Hey Hermione," I greet her, shrugging off my shoes.

"Hi Harry," she responds absently.

I wait a moment, and then say loudly, "Hello Ginny!"

A brief pause.

A distant giggle.

Then: "Hiya Harry!"

Turning back to a blushing Hermione, I demand, "I thought you said your parents were coming to visit 'sometime.'"

"And obviously, they are."

"You didn't mention it would be tomorrow."

"Did I not?"

"No."

She's lucky I love her. She really really is.

"Well… we moved your stuff over to Ginny's for you. So, at least you don't have to do that," Hermione responds. "And we're making dinner."

She shuts the textbook in front of her with a loud slam, and shoves her chair backwards. I try to ignore the harsh scraping sound the legs make as they rub against the tile. She has gotten up to stir the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove – I can tell, because I would know the scent anywhere. We've been having it at least once a week for a month, now.

"Ron's coming over to eat," Hermione states, still stirring. "So we can finally catch up with him. It's been forever since he's been here."

"Yeah, why is that again?" I ask. I've been wondering for the past few weeks why exactly Ron has gone AWOL.

"I'm not sure."

She stops stirring, and frowns.

"Ginny just said he's been really busy lately…"

I hear flames roar in the other room, and a loud thump.

"Bloody HELL, Harry…" Ron mutters, rubbing his shin as he enters the room a second later. "What in Merlin's name is your table doing in front of the fireplace?"

I had moved it there earlier that morning for no other reason but to make the room look different. Perhaps that had been ill advised.

"Um… I'm not sure?"

Ron's eyes narrow and he opens his mouth to speak, but his words are interrupted when Ginny emerges from her bedroom – MY bedroom – to give her big brother a hug. I love it so much when Hermione's parents come to visit. Really.

"Will anyone else be joining us tonight that I should be aware of?" I ask, suddenly in a very bad mood. Hermione winces, and bites her lip.

"No, Harry. This is it."

"Good. I'll be in my room, call me when dinner's ready."

I'm just reaching my doorway when Ginny calls, "Don't touch any of my stuff!"

I slam the door.


	3. The More Things Change

**Chapter 3**

**The More Things Change**

"So, mate, how's work?"

For the last twenty minutes, Ron has been attempting to make polite conversation with me. When this question, yet again, receives an answer of silence he begins talking about himself. I try not to listen as he starts discussing his own work with the Chudley Canons, and how much he's enjoying it. It only reminds me of what it is that I don't have.

My arm is beginning to tire, and I think that perhaps walking to Ginny's apartment, lugging my old school trunk, wasn't such a good idea. Call me a martyr, but I wanted Hermione to feel guilty about shoving me out of my own home yet again. It sounds selfish, yes, but I'm also hoping that this guilt will add to the guilt of lying to her parents and maybe, on some glorious day, she will finally tell them she lives with a male friend.

Until that day, however, Ginny's apartment is like a second home to me.

"Have you been listening to me at all?"

No…

"Yes…"

"What was the last thing I said?"

"Er…"

Ron is looking at me, somewhat resentfully, and I begin to feel a bit guilty. I haven't seen my best friend in weeks, after all, and the first chance I get to talk to him alone, I spend ignoring him instead.

I stop walking, and turn to face him. "Ron, I'm sorry. What was it you said?"

"I asked how Hermione had been getting along."

"It WAS you at dinner with us just now, wasn't it? Why didn't you just ask her?"

I know I must look completely bewildered.

"Well, I didn't think it was any of my business."

"Of course not, she's only one of your best friends…"

"Harry, shut up. She just seemed kind of…standoffish…tonight."

I nod, knowing exactly what he's talking about. She's been like this for a while, now – I'm never quite sure where I stand with her. I could have sworn she used to be more… lucid…

"Well…" I say cautiously. "She has been having a few ups and downs recently. I think she's just tired…you should see the amount of work she's been doing."

Ron shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, fingers playing absently with the hem of his worn jumper. I watch him closely, unsure what exactly it is that I'm missing.

"But otherwise, she's been doing okay?"

"Yes…" I say slowly. Ron nods, and then starts walking. I stand still for a moment before grabbing my trunk once more and following him.

I barely take a step before he stops abruptly and whirls around to face me again.

"Is she seeing anyone these days?"

There have been times, over the years, when I have utterly failed to understand where exactly Ron is coming from. This is one of them.

Multiplied by about 100.

"Not that I know of…"

"Oh, okay."

And he starts walking again.

Well, okay.

---

I stare at the ceiling, watching as the white paint gradually becomes brighter. Outside the open window, the sun is rising.

And I haven't slept at all.

Ginny's bed is too firm, as I've told her many times before. Last time I was here, I asked her if I could transfigure her mattress into a more comfortable consistency. She refused, and I fear she has set a trap for me in case I ignore her warning.

I know for a fact that she has transfigured MY bed. She's hypocritical like that.

Any minute now, Ginny's alarm will go off, and I will have to get up from this too hard mattress, with too little sleep, to spend another too long day at work. I can't say that I'm looking forward to it.

The alarm sounds, right on schedule, and I groan and slide my legs over the edge of the bed. Seeing my trunk in the corner of the room, I remember my walk here with Ron, and I make a mental note to send him a letter sometime. Out of my many failings, the one I regret the most is my inability to be a good friend, which is becoming more and more apparent to me.

I shower and dress without really noticing what it is I'm doing, and I can only hope that my socks match – but truthfully, I'm a little too tired to check. I realize belatedly that I have forgotten my toothbrush in my bedroom, and that I'll have to go back over there to sneak it out, later.

Sometimes, I wonder if Ginny and Hermione have ever stopped to think what would happen if Mrs. Weasley were to floo in, unannounced, while I'm here. When it comes to her daughter, Mrs. Weasley strikes me as more of a "terrorize first, ask questions later" kind of person.

Upon exiting the apartment, I come face to face with Ginny's neighbor.

"Nice to see you, again," she says, smiling widely at me.

She is entirely too perky for this hour in the morning.

"You too," I mutter, pocketing my wand after locking the door behind me. Ginny would kill me if anyone broke into her apartment because of my negligence.

"It's been a while. How long are Hermione's parents visiting for this time?"

"Don't know."

She should realize by now that I'm not the best company when I'm here. We walk to the stairs side by side in silence, and then part ways. She's headed up, I'm headed down.

I think it's symbolic of my life, actually.

"Say hi to Ginny for me, will you?"

"Yeah, sure," I reply.

I've gone down only a few steps when I stop and call Kennedy back.

"What is it?" she asks, bending over the wooden railing to peer down at me.

"Well, it's only that I left my toothbrush at my apartment, and I need a way to sneak it out of there."

"At least it wasn't your work robes, this time…"

"Anyways," I continue in a slightly louder voice. I've tried to forget the results of that incident. "You're friends with Ginny, right? So I was thinking, if you were to come with me, you could pretend the toothbrush is yours."

"Are you asking me on a date, Harry Potter?"

I'm appalled when I feel my cheeks heating up in a blush.

"Um…well, I…er…"

Sometimes, my eloquence amazes even me.

"Just kidding, Harry. Wow, you're blushing, aren't you? Pick me up at 5, and we'll stay for dinner. Now, I've got to be off."

I watch her skipping up the stairs, and am struck by three thoughts.

One: What have I gotten myself into?

Two: That woman is insane.

Three: I needed more sleep before dealing with said insane woman.

---

**To: **Harry Potter  
**From: **Moody

Meeting at 09 00.

---

I shift in my chair somewhat uncomfortably, resisting the urge to grasp my head in pain. That usually garners unnecessary reactions. It seems to be an unwritten rule that Harry Potter cannot simply have a headache.

I am surrounded by middle aged wizards, all of whom stare straight ahead at Moody as if he were Merlin himself, taking in every word that he says.

I struggle to comprehend how this mindless group people are by far my superiors in the Ministry.

For the last hour, I have been told and retold what measures were taken to ensure the validity of Malfoy's statement. And those measures have been explained, and explained, and explained. Merlin…or, rather, Moody … still has yet to reach his point.

Absently, I twirl my quill, barely noticing as spots of ink begin appearing on the table. I do, however, feel the glare boring into the back of my skull, from the wizard whose hand I just flicked ink all over.

Oops.

Quite suddenly, however, the laser beam is removed from my skull, and the room erupts into noise. Angry, disbelieving voices overlap as each fight for dominance.

I sit in my chair, and struggle to figure out what it is that I have missed.

Finally, the aurors become aware of Moody's scathing expression, and they quiet down.

"But as of right now, Mr. Malfoy is our newest spy within Voldemort's circle. The Minister of Magic himself has approved it, and none of you have any place to disagree."

"What?" I blurt.

Moody raises an eyebrow at me.

The auror next to me – the one I sprayed with ink – mutters, "I wish I could say that such a delayed reaction surprised me…I always said he was touched in the head."

And suddenly, my dark mood from this morning returns full force.

"I'd have to agree," I say shortly, turning to face him with the full force of my lightning bolt scar which, I know, stands out a stark red against my forehead. Under the pressure of my stormy expression, I see his eyes widen slightly.

"Potter! Wilson! That's enough. Potter, one more outburst and I'm going to have to ask you to leave – as it is, you're only here because you were Mr. Malfoy's supervising auror."

I face Moody once more, and state, "Sorry, sir. I had a bit of a headache, and didn't quite hear what you said."

I do realize that it is wrong to use my scar to prove a point. I do.

It's just that sometimes, I really don't care.

"Wilson?"

"Yes sir?" responds the wizard.

"You have been assigned as Malfoy's handler. I believe you are familiar with all this entails?"

"Yes sir."

Apparently, the earlier uproar had been the result of the revelation that Malfoy's statement had been verified as accurate.

I find that I'm not nearly as surprised as I should be.

"Good. Now, the next order of business – there is a Death Eater meeting tonight. We need to figure out how to ensure that Malfoy returns to the Death Eater camp safely, and that he is accepted by Voldemort. I believe all of us should be here for this crucial decision."

_Although some of us are here to remain silent. _

I don't need to hear the words to know that they exist. As Moody's magical eye focuses on me, the message comes through loud and clear.

So there I sit, allowing the noise of twelve grown men discussing, and sometimes arguing, like children. I wonder vaguely if they perhaps have just forgotten to ask me to leave.

"…And I want to magically listen in on the conversation. We can place a charm on Malfoy's clothes, and –,"

"You can't do that!"

The words are out of my mouth before I remember that my opinion is not wanted.

"Potter, I thought I made it clear that - !"

"Yes, I mean, you did, sir…but…You can't put charms on Malfoy!"

"And why not?" demands Wilson.

I stare at him incredulously.

"Because, Voldemort will check for something like that! It's a stupid move, and it will put Malfoy in unnecessary danger."

"Last time I checked Potter, I was the one in charge, here."

I look at Moody, appealing to him for back up.

It never comes.

"Potter, out."

I leave without another word.

---

**Author's Note**:

Well, I would just like to thank everyone that reviewed, who are, in fact, the following people:

moonkittenluna, burningchaos, purexaddiction, dairygirl, amessis, baileyjames, drusillasrain, Elektra107, Ashes of Stars, fragonknight01, Silverone3, Blue Lycan, Mrs. Erin Potter, NayNymic, Valerie747, childrenwithblades, Ionaonie, Queen Queso, Miss Top Hat, Sams Chizoice, HD Freak, big green, Professor Maddy

This is the first fanfiction that I've ever had posted online - and I'm SO happy that people are reading it and liking it!  
I started writing this for fun, and you guys are definitely making it even more fun than before. So thank you.

As well, word on the street is that there's a mailing list for anyone who wants to be on...

Oh, yes, and special thanks to Megan, for taking the decision to post it out of my hands and annoying me - I mean, ENCOURAGING me - to update when life is too busy for me to remember on my own.

Porcelain Toilet


	4. Yesterday's Trust

**Title – **One Day to the Next  
**Author Name and E-mail – **Porcelain Toast  
**Pairing(s) – **Harry/Draco, Hermione/Ron  
**Disclaimer** – I do not claim any rights to the characters or situations created by JK Rowling.  
**Rating –** PG-13  
**Summary** – Sometimes, life can take you in unexpected directions - Harry Potter knows this as a fact. Nothing in his life has happened the way he thought it would, something he sees now, more than ever. But when a Death Eater walks into the Ministry of Magic, intent on turning to the Light, Harry realizes that life never really stops changing.  
**Category(s)** – romance, humour  
**Spoilers – **Any of the books, PS/SS, COS, POA, GOF, OotP

**Chapter 4  
**Yesterday's Trust

Sometimes, I wonder what keeps us here – living from day to day lives that hardly seem worth it. But maybe that's just me. Maybe, underneath it all, everyone else is really and truly happy. It's an odd thought, that people can be that unwaveringly happy, even in times like this.

But then, it's strange how easy it is, to ignore the reality of this world. To ignore the fact that around you, people are dying, are in pain. What you don't see, what you're not directly involved in, shouldn't affect you – should it?

That seems to be the attitude these days. It's what keeps people going, the illusion that life is still the same as it once was. And for all intents and purposes, it might very well be. No clear battle lines have been drawn in this war, yet. Neither side is willing to be the first to make the challenge that will send the wizarding world back into the darkest days of Voldemort's first rise to power. Each side is biding their time, waiting for the advantage.

And meanwhile, everyone else tries to forget…

I only wish I could forget things as easily as "everyone else".

---

Angrily, I shove my chair backwards, and sit down with an audible thump. Paul looks up from his desk, wary of one of Harry Potter's famous temper tantrums. Because I am, after all, a **child**.

"What the BLOODY HELL do they think they're doing?" I demand. "They're going to get him killed."

"Who's that, now?"

"Never _mind_," I bite out. Paul knows nothing about this Malfoy business, and it's not my place to tell him. The information is somewhat classified, after all. I vow to simmer quietly.

A minute passes.

"Why does no one listen to me? I am NOT some STUPID CHILD!"

I slam my hand down on the table, and feel a satisfying twinge of pain travel up my arm. As I flex my hand, I wince, and the corner of Paul's mouth turns up in a smirk.

"Maybe not a child, but that wasn't exactly what one would term intelligent, now was it?"

I give him a dark look, then rise abruptly and leave the office – still cradling my now aching hand.

---

"You're looking kind of peaky, there, Harry…you alright?"

I glance over at my…dinner date… and raise an eyebrow defensively. "Thanks for the compliment."

"I didn't mean anything by it."

"I'm fine."

A moment of uncomfortable silence passes, then she adds, "It's only that you look rather pale. Is something wrong?"

I immediately feel bad for being short with her, and sigh, "I'm just a bit tired. I can't sleep at Ginny's, you know?"

She giggles lightly, then nods. We have reached the door of my flat, and I hesitate before knocking. Forcing a grin onto my face, I state seriously, "Your mission – retrieve my toothbrush. Do you accept?"

She smiles back at me, and I knock.

The sound of quick footsteps greets my ears immediately, and within seconds Ginny has flung the door open.

It's nice to see she's made herself at home.

"Kennedy!" she squeals, in the manner that most girls do when faced with such an unexpected situation as a surprise meeting with a friend. They hug briefly, and then we are being ushered into the main room, where I see that the coffee table has been moved back into the center of the room.

Hmph.

Hermione is sitting in between her parents on the couch, frowning at me. It occurs to me that she might be somewhat afraid that I have finally decided to exact my revenge upon her for kicking me out of house and home. I wave at her and smile sweetly, and the frown fades.

Ever heard the phrase 'lulling into a false sense of security'?

"Mum, Dad, this is Harry… you remember him, don't you?" Hermione asks, standing up in order to play the hostess.

"Harry," her father says, tilting his head briefly in greeting. I nod back, resisting the urge to salute him instead.

Ginny adds, "And this is Kennedy, one of my best friends. She lives in the apartment next to me."

I can't help but notice that her reception is considerably warmer than mine. Ouch. Mr. Granger is staring at me again, and I shift slowly from foot to foot. A silence so heavy that I almost can't breathe settles over the room, and tension thickens. I find myself scuffing my toe against the carpeted floor.

"We, uh… Kennedy just forgot her toothbrush…" I look meaningfully at Hermione and Ginny, "last time that she stayed over here, a couple nights ago. So we thought we'd come over and make it a bit of a dinner party tonight."

"That sounds great, Harry," Hermione responds. "It's been so long since we've gotten together, we haven't met for lunch in ages."

I see Mr. Granger staring back and forth between us out of the corner of my eye, and I decide that a look of suspicion such as that is never a good thing. Luckily, Ginny drags Kennedy off to get 'her' toothbrush. Hermione's eyes follow their exit, but once the girls are out of sight, she turns back to be questioningly. An eyebrow is raised.

I shrug, and shake my head, knowing she is wondering why exactly Kennedy and I have shown up together. As I'm not sure myself, I hope the subject drops.

"So, – Harry. How is work going?" Mrs. Granger asks politely. Hermione squeezes her eyes shut and puts a hand to her head.

And suddenly, just like that, Malfoy is back in the forefront of my mind.

"It's fine," I say, although a cold feeling is slowly settling in the pit of my stomach. A feeling of helplessness, and the knowledge that I – who I am, everything I symbolize in the wizarding world – am useless when it comes to things that really matter.

"Harry?" Hermione asks quietly. "Are you all right?"

Her parents are watching the exchange, heads moving back and forth like a tennis match. Carefully, I try to erase any emotion from my face – something I've perfected in the last little while.

"Fine."

---

"This is delicious, Hermione," Kennedy says, as she raises another forkful of spaghetti to her mouth.

Yes, spaghetti. Again.

Ginny and I share a glance and continue eating in silence. Or rather, she continues eating, while I continue twirling the noodles around on the plate. I haven't been able to eat more than two mouthfuls since sitting down, my stomach preferring to do flips rather than accept food. Out the window, I can see darkness beginning to fall, and I know that at any time, Malfoy could be leaving for the Death Eater meeting.

I don't know why I care, but I do. He came to the Ministry for help, he came to the Ministry to fight against Voldemort – and what have we offered him?

Death.

If they carry through that plan… and Moody allows Wilson – the most incompetent handler I have ever known – to place charms on Malfoy…

The Ministry betrays him.

And there's nothing at all that I can do.

"How's Ron?" Hermione asks. All eyes turn to me.

The confusion…

"Did I have dinner last night with a group of clones, or something?" I demand.

"Clones?" Ginny and Kennedy ask simultaneously.

I wave my hand in dismissal, and continue staring at Hermione blankly.

"What are you on about?" she asks, suddenly sounding quite cross. "I only asked - ,"

"You only asked how the person you and I BOTH ate dinner with last night was doing."

"I thought they said they hadn't seen each other in a while?" I hear Hermione's mother whisper to her husband. I would have been amused if not for the all-consuming annoyance I was feeling at Ron and Hermione both.

"What is your POINT, Harry?"

"My POINT, Hermione, is that you and Ron are both fully capable of speaking with each other. You don't need to do it through me. If you wanted to know how he was doing, you could have asked him."

"Well, I was busy."

"What, making spaghetti? At this point I think you could make it blindfolded and in a full body bind."

"Harry!" Ginny hisses. She jerks her head in the direction of Hermione's parents. I almost feel ashamed for picking a fight.

"Sorry," I say shortly. "But you two need to get over whatever it is that has you fighting this time, before you don't have a chance to make up. Excuse me."

Dead silence settles over the table as I push my chair back and leave the room.

It is when I am settling on the couch that conversation finally starts up again, a bit awkwardly at first. Consequently, no one but me hears the small tap tapping on the window. I glance over, and see a brown barn owl on the sill. Frowning, I rise and retrieve the letter, giving it a small pat on the head before sending it once more on its way.

---

After making hasty excuses, I am running through the Ministry of Magic at top speed. It seems like ages before I have reached the designated meeting room, and I skid to a stop outside the door. I pause for a minute, attempting to catch my breath, and then push the door open.

"It's about time someone competent got here," a familiar voice drawls.

Shocked, my eyes widen, and I take in Moody and none other than Draco Malfoy – the only two occupants of the room – sitting at the far end of the long table.

"What happened to Wilson?" I ask, the only coherent thought that I can form at this point in time.

"Who, that imbecile that they assigned to me? The one who was trying to get me killed?"

_Thank _you

I clear my throat. "Yeah…um, that one."

"I made it clear that if I were to be sent into a life and death situation on a regular basis, it would be with someone I trust watching my back. Seems a reasonable request, don't you think?"

I nod, still unsure as to why I am here.

"Mr. Potter," Moody says gruffly – and not without a bit of annoyance in his voice. "From this point forward you are in charge of Malfoy's case."

Oh.


End file.
